Broken Vessels (volume 2 of Jars of Clay) Page 3

  “Felicity, pour me a cup of water,” she said, “I feel faint.”

  Felicity, who had been working on her mistress’s attire and hair throughout the morning, stopped her activities and did as she was requested.

  “I’m sorry you do not feel well and on such a day as this,” she said. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, I am fine. You may go and get yourself ready.”

  “You are sure you want to be by yourself? I could call someone to sit with you.”

  “No, don’t do that. I desire this time to be alone.”

  “Of course,” Felicity said, and then quietly slipped away.

  Helena’s thoughts returned to the approaching ceremony. Who would be there to witness their coming together, this act of sacrifice, in which Vincentius was the god, and she the blood offering?

  Her father and mother would be present, of course, and her brothers: Gordian, who had returned from Severus’s service for the occasion, and Cassius who, she acknowledged, had decidedly changed. He was different somehow, more peaceable and contented. There was evidence of this in his demeanor and even his stance and gate.

  Tatiana would undoubtedly be present, along with her new husband and her rounded stomach. She had lost her sparkle and bounce of late, and her eyes were beginning to remind Helena of Virina’s. Surely this world that belonged to the wives and mothers of Rome was not so lost, not so despairing. Gordian had jested when he had heard of Tatiana’s union, that it would not last five years. In fact, Tatiana was not the first or even the second wife of her elderly husband. Gordian might indeed be correct in his prediction.

  Lucius would not be present, of course. Had the world been a fairer place, he would be the one she would be wedded to today. He, though gone a thousand miles and what felt like a thousand days, was the man who owned her heart. What a farce this marriage ceremony uniting her to Vincentius was to be.

  Felicity returned. “It is time. I am to escort you to your father’s office.”

  “So be it,” she said. She would play the part of delirious bride, of grateful daughter. She would not disappoint her guests or embarrass her family. She would be strong with the help of the gods. And although she knew she could never love Vincentius, she was determined to succeed at the duties bestowed upon her as his wife and would honor him in public and private.

  This much her father had taught her.

  ***

  The villa Vincentius had purchased was situated west of her father’s house. Not so close that she could walk there, which she often longed to do, but a pleasant ride by carriage. She found herself lost in it, not due to its size for it was considerably smaller than what she was used to, but due to its lack of character and warmth and her failure to perceive it as home.

  The courtyard was bright enough, with verdant foliage tamed by gardeners and marble statues dotting the walkway, though not as trim or colorful as her father’s. Nor were the paintings on the wall surfaces of Vincentius’s home as elaborate and vibrant as the ones that covered the walls of the atrium and tablinum belonging to Brutus.

  The house itself and the yards contained therein were adequate, and Vincentius had proven to be gentle and thoughtful on their wedding night. He only called for her during the time of the moon that she could possibly conceive a child, having obtained the information concerning her fertile days from Felicity. It was a move that mortified her in the beginning, yet still her stomach remained flat. The gods had not smiled on her, for she had not conceived, and if only, if only she would, she would be spared the agonizingly humiliating monthly visits from her husband.

  For she knew he loved another.

  Had she failed so terribly as a wife that her husband of only a few months would find his pleasure in someone else? The worst of it was there was no way in which she could compete, for her rival was a male.

  At first she thought nothing of Vincentius’s regular visitations with Claudius, for her father often conducted business from the home. But over the course of time, she had not missed the shared grins, the locking of eyes, and the casual stroking of the arms.

  She was too humiliated to ask Felicity about it, for even if she had remained in the dark about her husband’s private rendezvous, his household of slaves and servants knew. Yet her curiosity and her dignity demanded an answer.

  “Felicity?” She had called her slave to walk with her around the gardens. “You must see and hear many things in the house of Vincentius. More than even the wife of the master would hear and see?”

  Felicity nodded.

  “I know my husband is a busy man, with much business to conduct. And I know he has little time for the affairs of a woman, but I can’t help wondering. Does he often have guests, um, overnight?” And not wanting to sound suspicious that her husband was involved in illicit affairs, she quickly added, “for business, I mean?”

  Felicity dropped her eyes. “Yes,” she said quietly.

  “Often?” Helena said, her voice hushed also.

  Felicity nodded.

  “Nightly?”

  Again, without looking her mistress in the eyes, Felicity nodded.

  “I see.”

  So that was it. She was to produce heirs and not love. She and Vincentius would never know the love that was to grow between a man and his wife. And truthfully, this would be fine by her.

  When the cycle of the moon indicated an impending visit from her husband, Helena paced in her room, deeply repulsed by this fraudulent act of marriage. She prayed earnestly to Liber and to the great goddess Juno that this time, this night, she would conceive, and the sham of their lovemaking would end.

  She scoffed. What love making? He simply mounted her and performed his duty. At least he was quick about it.

  And he had become bolder with his lifestyle in his own home. Claudius, a thin man, thinner than Vincentius if that were possible, with a prominent effeminate manner, now joined Vincentius and Helena at meal times. They engaged in a thin veneer of feigned, friendship-only conversation—out of respect for her position, she imagined. She wondered how long it would last until Claudius took over her place in the household, and she was totally shamed.

  She had put her foot down adamantly when Vincentius brought home a catamite. The little boy, nude except for several heavy gold chains hanging from his brown neck, was purchased to entertain Vincentius and Claudius. He was no more than five, and reminded her of her dead brother, Marcellus. She threatened to tell all to Brutus if he did not get rid of him immediately. Vincentius must have counted the loss of business and relationship with Brutus as considerable, for the boy was removed the next day.

  She shuddered when the knock came, but breathed deeply. She threw her shoulders back, and smiled when Vincentius entered her chambers. If nothing else, she still had her dignity.

  One month later, she danced and poured libations out at the feet of Liber and Juno. She no longer had to endure those hideous encounters with Vincentius. Finally she was with child.

  Chapter Seven

  LUCIUS

  There was slim satisfaction in watching the wall grow. It was mindless labor—scooping up the mortar with the trowel, slapping it on the latest layer of bricks, applying the new row.

  Mortar was permanently imbedded under Lucius’s fingernails and in the dry creases of his hands. On the upside, his arms and chest muscles had grown and hardened from the difficult labor. He stopped briefly to stretch and flex his biceps, the sun reflecting off the sweat and muscular curves. Almost like Hercules, he mused. No one would pick a fight with him in the streets without regrets.

  Hermus had contracted this small job in a dark alley. His customer wanted a wall built around his house, to keep the undesirables out.

  At the end of the day, when the setting sun stole the necessary light needed to do the work, Lucius cleaned up his supplies and headed back to the brickyard.

  He walked the filthy narrow alleyways with his head held high. He was no longer just the son of a freedman, he was f
ree. He worked hard for honest wages and today was payday.

  This thought caused his lips to pull down in a frown. Hermus had been late to pay him every time since he’d arrived several weeks earlier. Lucius saw an unwelcomed pattern forming and he had discovered the reason why, despite Hermus’s apparent abundance of work, he was repeatedly short of funds.

  A few nights before, to escape Gaia’s constant unwanted attention, Lucius left the brickyard to wander the Forum. He’d spotted Hermus entering a gambling establishment, a place reported to operate cock fights and broker gladiator bets.

  That was the reason Hermus failed to pay on time and Lucius considered his stint at the brickyard might be short-lived.

  After storing his supplies in the shed, he stopped at the well to wash up. He filled a bucket and headed to his quarters in the barn. He no longer noticed the stench of hogs and chickens that scrambled to get out of his path as he climbed the ladder to his loft.

  It was a small space with sloped ceilings; he had to duck his head, except at the narrow line in the center of the room. On one side was a straw mattress on the floor with a stained but clean feather blanket. On the opposite side was a table and chair under a small window. It was here that he could drink tea or eat bread in peace, away from the nerve-fraying giggling of his female hosts.

  Lucius changed into cleaner clothes, compliments of Marca, and headed back down the ladder towards the farm-house and the column of smoke coming from the chimney that meant some farm fowl was nicely cooked and waiting.

  The home of Hermus and his family was a modest, plain brick structure sparsely furnished, but it was larger than any of the homes in the servant’s village on Brutus’s property.

  The kitchen had a large fireplace and a stone cooking oven. A wooden table with four chairs sat near the window overlooking the yard.

  Gaia had just finished setting the table as Marca brought the roasted chicken and set it down in the middle. Lucius couldn’t help salivating.

  Hermus entered and Lucius moved to take his usual position, across from the women and next to Hermus. At his first meal with the family Hermus had pointedly directed Gaia away from their guest, so he was surprised when Hermus announced that he’d prefer if his wife sat beside him instead.

  Lucius hesitated. This meant his new seat positioned him next to Gaia.

  Not wanting to insult his boss he said, “Of course,” and took his newly assigned chair.

  He gave Gaia an obligatory smile and dug in, focusing for the next several minutes on filling his stomach.

  “I have something for you, Lucius,” Hermus said after the meal, as Gaia cleared the dirty dishes away. He pulled out a short, stiff sheet of papyrus.

  “What is it?” Lucius said.

  “A ticket to next week’s games,” Hermus said proudly. “I’m sure you’ve been wanting to go?”

  “Yes! I’ve been dying to go.” Lucius fingered the ticket, wondering at Hermus’s generosity. Then it dawned on him. This was Hermus’s way of making his week’s wage. “Short on denarii again?”

  Hermus shrugged. “There are good weeks and there are bad. For once someone owed me something. He paid me with this ticket, and now I’m paying you.”

  Lucius chuckled. “Okay, Hermus. This time only. Okay?”

  Hermus shrugged.

  Lucius felt light-hearted as he made his way back to the barn. He didn’t have coin, but he’d already purchased the new tunic he’d needed and he’d recently been to the barber. He could wait another week to bolster his denarii count. Finally, he’d get to go inside the Coliseum and not just admire it from afar. He hoped the famed gladiator Urbico would still be alive by then. Imagine, seeing real gladiators fighting in real life!

  Once in the loft he crawled onto his straw mattress and fell immediately asleep.

  And promptly dreamed of Helena.

  He awoke to his own gasping breath and racing heart. It was a recurring dream. Helena would appear to him in his room, and he’d stroke her skin and kiss her mouth. He felt intensely happy and relieved to finally have her again but then like steam, her image grew wispy and thin. He struggled to keep her in his arms, grabbing the air wildly until she whispered goodbye and disappeared.

  Chapter Eight

  HELENA

  Helena tugged at a loose thread on her toga. She twiddled her fingers. She considered sending Felicity to fetch her something to eat, but her stomach was off—probably due to the baby she carried, so she decided against that.

  She walked without purpose through the atrium of her new home, catching a glimpse of Vincentius. He was with Claudius in the tabulium, laughing over some matter that didn’t include her.

  Out on the patio, she sat on a bench beside a sleeping cat. She stroked it.

  “Oh, to the gods,” she said to the cat. “I’m so lonely.”

  Sure, she had Felicity, but she couldn’t very well make a friend out of her slave, could she? Back at her childhood home, she’d had many diversions. Even though her family was often out or pre-occupied, there was activity in the home from the slaves and servants, there were childhood haunts, there was her father’s library.

  And for many months there had been Lucius. Helena let out a deep sigh. She recognized that those months with Lucius had been the happiest of her life.

  These months with Vincentius, her worst.

  A tear rolled slowly down her cheek.

  “My lady?”

  Helena quickly wiped the tell-tale sign of her sorrow away. “Yes, Felicity, what is it?”

  “I don’t mean to speak out of turn, but perhaps a visit to your father’s house would uplift your spirits?”

  Felicity was right. It had been many days since she’d visited the villa, and maybe, if the gods smiled on her, Brutus would be home.

  “Yes, Felicity, I think you are right. Please prepare for our trip.”

  Once Felicity had packed a few things and called for the driver, Helena sent her to inform Vincentius of their plans. He wouldn’t object. He cared not what she did with her time.

  Upon entering the grounds of the villa, Helena felt the heaviness in her heart lift.

  She bounded through the front door into the atrium like a little girl, giddy to get away from the emptiness she felt at Vincentius’s house.

  Brutus was in his office just like she’d hoped. His eyes lit up when he saw her and it was like no time had passed between them at all. She entered his embrace and breathed in sharply of his lingering scent of olives and musk.

  “How is the new mother-to-be?” Brutus said. Helena was glad that her father looked forward to being a grandfather.

  “The child is fine, Father.”

  “And you?”

  Helena’s nose grew red as a rush of tears surprised her. Brutus handed her a handkerchief.

  “What is wrong?” he said.

  Helena debated—should she tell her father the truth about Vincentius? Would the gods consider that a betrayal to her husband?

  Then she had a terrible thought. Did Brutus know? Had he known the truth about Vincentius—that there was no way she could ever be happy with him—and gone forward, just to make a good business deal?

  She took a step back.

  “How much do you know about Vincentius?”

  Brutus’s bushy eyebrows lifted. “To what end is this line of questioning?”

  “Vincentius has a male friend,” Helena ventured. When Brutus failed to recognize her intent she added, “Who spends the night in his chamber.”

  Understanding crossed Brutus’s face. “That dishonest, deceiving scoundrel!” He slammed his fist on the table, shocking Helena to her senses. Of course he hadn’t known. How awful of her to suspect him.

  “It’s okay, Father, really. I’ve succumbed to irrational emotionalism. I don’t know why. Really, if the truth were told, I’m quite relieved. I never loved him nor obviously, he me. You know that. And now all expectations to achieve that end are lifted.”

  “But what will everyone think?”
Brutus said as he slipped into his office chair. “Surely we will be laughed at and mocked when word of this gets out.”

  “The mockery, Father,” Helena said, now well in control of her tears, “is that all of Carthage already knew what we alone were kept in the quiet about. We must lift our heads, walk stately, and thank the gods that an heir has been granted. That should stop some of the tongues from wagging, I should think.”

  “Indeed, you are right,” Brutus said. “We must not look the victim in this situation. However, I do insist as the pater familias, that you return here to live and raise that child.”

  “Do you mean it, Father?” Helena shouted, overcome with relief. Her heart had longed for this more than anything else.

  “Yes, starting immediately. I will go to Vincentius myself, and we will have a serious discussion. We both have much to lose if ties are completely severed, I’m afraid. But Vincentius has more to lose than I. I think we can come to an arrangement that will suit us all, without it resulting in divorce.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Have Felicity collect your things.”

  Helena moved about the villa restlessly. Her return was uncelebrated and life went on as if she had never left. She sat at her desk with parchment rolled open across the surface, the light of the candle flickering across the page, the stylus in her hand and poised to write.

  Nothing.

  The words wouldn’t come. Her emotions and pain ran too deep for her to access here. She quickly rolled up the parchment and blew out the candle. Perhaps a change of scenery would help.

  In the atrium she nearly bumped into Gordian, who was home for a couple days as the army passed through Carthage. Was it just her, or did the entire household become agitated by his presence?

  “Where are you going in such a hurry?” he said as she backed away.

  “There is nowhere that I go in a hurry, brother.”

  “Ah, I hear you’re a permanent resident here once again. Couldn’t hang onto a man for half a year?” He laughed. “I should have put a wager on you.”